by LC Champlin
“This looks promising. Come.”
They followed Albin to the front door.
“This better not be another prank,” Bridges muttered.
As Albin raised his fist to knock, he turned to the economist. “Is it safe to touch the door, or will it trigger a trap that will electrocute me?”
With a shrug, Bridges stepped back. “Don’t look at me. There were no places like this in Faithful Dark. I’m not even sure why we’re talking to this moron again. All he did was screw with us before.”
“He gave us food and rooms,” Kuznetsov objected, the loyal defender of the Oshiro.
The door swung open as Albin’s knuckles descended. He stopped half a meter from Kenichi Oshiro’s grinning face.
++++++++++++
The Redwood Shores residents worked to load two generators: one went into the rear of the Sierra, and the other into a GMC Denali 2500. The abandoned cars in the area, as well as the garages, would supply fuel.
“We’re finding more solar panels around,” Dennis related to Nathan as they supervised the loading. “Several residents are figuring out the best places to install them.”
“Very good. Now we only need to find more.”
Nathan returned to Keelson, the Musters’ street, three blocks from the away team’s staging area. Movement in the bushes in the yard made him pause. Glock out at compressed ready—
A head of multi-colored neon hair poked around the gate. Denver. Her brow wrinkled in concern, but when she spotted him, relief overcame her. “Nathan! Come here. I have to show you something.”
These words from a child could inspire more madness-inducing horror than any Lovecraftian Old One. He quickened his step. “What is it, Denver?”
“I don’t know.” She bounced on the balls of her feet.
He stepped around her and through the gate at her frantic gesture. “Is someone hurt?” Please no—
“Nuh-uh. Come on.”
She dashed around to her backyard. Nothing special so far. Around the corner of the house they went. In the shade sat Taylor, cross-legged, with Zander in front of her, playing with his stuffed lion and an Iron Man figure.
Taylor looked up when she saw Nathan, the same look of concern on her face as her sister had worn. “Nathan, look.” She pointed to a box the size and shape of a DVD player, and which rested on end against the wall.
“This?” It resembled a cable-converter, but who in this neighborhood would hijack cable when they could afford to live in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Silicon Valley?
A coaxial cable connected it to a satellite dish at the corner of the roof. Wait, not to the dish, but to an antenna that someone had wired to the dish’s base. Three antenna sections, each two feet long, protruded downward at a 45-degree angle from the vertical pole. A transmitting antenna.
“Zander found it,” Taylor informed him with the gravity of an inveterate tattletale. “He was playing and pushed a bush away. The bush was just set there.” She pointed to a hedge clipping.
Nathan inched toward the box. For all anyone knew, it might act as an improvised explosive device. He placed his palm on the metal surface. Warm but not hot. A processor fan whirred inside, while a green light blinked in the left corner.
“It’s some sort of computer. It might be trying to send a signal.” He nodded to the antenna.
“Are they calling aliens?” Excitement strained Denver’s voice. “I wouldn’t want to get abducted by an alien, though, ’cause it would probably be even worse than zombies.”
“A logical opinion,” Nathan muttered. On the wall-side of the box, a dial marked Signal Strength sat flush with the metal. Numerals from 1 through 10 ran along the circumference. The dial pointed to 1. A white light blinked beside it, flickering like the status light on a modem. On the side protruded a keypad. Above it, a sticker read, Sequence Frequency Shift. Frequencies? Such as those the cannibals supposedly reacted to? Could this box have interfered with them? His pulse jumped. Did it function as another ReMOT, one that actually worked?
Hand on his ribs, he straightened. “Zander, when did you find this box?” If the boy had changed the settings, perhaps it had attracted the cannibals.
“Yesterday.”
“Have you been playing with the box?”
The boy looked up with cow eyes.
Smiling as he eased onto one knee, Nathan ruffled the boy’s hair. “It’s all right, little man, I just want to know.”
“You’re not in trouble or anything,” Taylor affirmed.
“Mm-hmm.” The lion and action figure occupied Zander’s attention. “I like the red.” Sparing a moment from his toys, Zander pointed to the red light.
On impulse, Nathan turned the dial. It shifted through the color spectrum, turning red at 10. “Like this, kiddo?”
Zander looked down at Iron Man. “Red.”
Red. Frowning, Nathan turned the dial back to zero, returning the light to the cool white of a blizzard. “Yes, red is quite powerful.”
Chapter 42
Rumpelstiltskin
All Will Be Well - Gabe Dixon Band
“Don’t just stand on my doorstep arguing like the Three Stooges,” Kenichi-san greeted the visitors. “Get in before the neighbors start wondering.” He pulled them inside. Following his favored décor, the entryway boasted an ancient-Japanese flavor. A suit of samurai armor guarded each corner.
“I’m so glad you were able to figure out my little riddle!” He laughed as if delivering a jest’s punch line. “Did you like it?” His dark eyes widened behind his glasses. “It’s a shame Nathan couldn’t experience it too, because there were some nifty little parts that—”
“Kenichi-san, thank you for allowing us to meet with you.” If Albin failed to redirect him now, the inventor would ramble on, detailing the splendid aspects of his game.
“Ah, yes. You’re always to the point, Mr. Conrad.” Kenichi-san shook a strand of black, shoulder-length hair from before his eyes. “I can appreciate that. It’s very American of you.” His grin faded to a shade of a smile. “Now, you wanted to talk to me about something, otherwise you wouldn’t have come out here. But I could be wrong; you might have just gotten tired of being the government’s pets.”
“All of the above.” Bridges stood with arms crossed, making no effort to conceal his skepticism. “But I don’t know if this is going to be any better.”
“You can spot the fluctuations in the economy, but you can’t see if this is going to pay off?” Kenichi-san feigned incredulity. “Come on, when is talking to me ever a waste?”
“This is about Mr. Serebus,” Albin clarified. “If I am to judge by your riddle, you already know this.”
“I certainly do! Mm, he’s become a little dark god, hasn’t he.” Satisfaction smoldered in the inventor’s eyes as if Mr. Serebus’s state fulfilled a lifelong goal. “And to think, he accused me of wanting to run my own world!” He laughed.
“You both are in search of your own world. But at the moment, it is Mr. Serebus’s world that is colliding with mine.”
“His world will collide with many others, I predict. Do you know, I guessed his behavior would drive his friends away?” Kenichi-san raised his eyebrows in mock astonishment. The real astonishment came with the fact that he had not received multiple slaps to the face throughout his life for his impudence. “But let’s not stand here in the hall.”
He led them into a royal-purple living room, which hosted low couches in a fusion of Western and Eastern design. With a sigh, he flung himself onto a couch before indicating that the guests do likewise on adjacent seating.
“You were saying, Mr. Conrad, how Nathan’s making a wreck of things. Rather like he attempted to and somewhat succeeded in doing to my Oshiro.” For the first time, his face darkened. His black eyes burned like those of the demonic oni masks that hung along the walls.
Albin glanced at Bridges and Kuznetsov. “Pardon me, but I would appreciate a pri
vate moment with Kenichi-san. I am not discussing anything beyond your current knowledge.”
The two men exchanged looks of confusion. “Sure,” Bridges responded.
“The kitchen is down the hall,” Ken informed them.
After they departed, Albin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing the tips of his fingers together. “Mr. Serebus is intent on using the residents of Redwood Shores to help him develop a means for controlling the cannibals. But he does not want to cure the condition; he wants to weaponize it.”
“Logical.”
“He is only interested in power at this point, even using me as his pawn.” An ache throbbed in Albin’s skull. “I can no longer tolerate his manipulation of Redwood Shores. As if attempting to murder you was not a sufficient crime, he sided with mercenaries in order to accomplish his goals.”
As Albin spoke, Kenichi-san toyed with a mechanical puzzle, pulling a chain through a ring. An antique pad lock secured the pieces in a unit.
“I heard something about his antics already,” the inventor announced, “so you don’t have to go into painful detail. And by painful I mean painful for you, not me.”
“He also claimed you were in league with the people who created the cannibal contagion.” The tone conveyed perfect neutrality, neither believing nor skeptical.
A slight smile twitched around Kenichi-san’s lips as he pulled into a cross-legged position. “He would say that, wouldn’t he.”
“Are you?” Exhaustion from the days’ events caused disdain for tact.
“Does it matter to you?”
“Truthfully, if you help me bring Mr. Serebus back to his senses, no.” Speaking the truth aloud made it sound unfamiliar, but truth remained truth.
“Very well. Tell me, why are you at odds with him?” Pulling the chain taut within the ring and lock, Kenichi-san put his head to one side. “Haven’t you two always been on the same page, or at least in the same book? You were best friends forever, as far as I knew.”
Eyes narrowed, Albin regarded him. “He does not agree that he should prioritize the people’s interests above his own. He will place the residents in danger to achieve his ends.”
“Are you really worried about their welfare?”
“Of course.” Unease ran down Albin’s spine, prompting him to roll his shoulders. “I am also worried about his welfare. He is not thinking sensibly.”
“It sounds like he’s thinking how I’ve always known him to.”
If tolerating Kenichi-san did not offer the prospect of resources, Albin would have taken his leave. “He believes God chose him to rule and reign.”
“A dark Messiah, eh? But how’s that different from every other day?”
While Albin could argue the time of origin for the delusion, it would prove a waste of time. “He needs to return home with me and reunite with his family.”
“Of course, of course.” Nodding followed as the lock swung at the end of the puzzle’s chain in pendulum fashion. “When you spoke of how he treated Redwood, are you sure you’re not speaking of how he treated you?” Kenichi-san assumed an expression of innocent interest.
“I . . .” Albin looked away. Always perceptive, the inventor had pinpointed the area of injury. “I am but a smaller picture of how he treats the world.”
“But he’s always treated people this way—”
“No—”
“Lemme finish!” The inventor waved for pause. “People like him see others only as resources. They’re not trying to be evil, or even jerks. They usually think they’re working for other people’s best interests. There are of course narcissistic bastards among them, but even they believe they’re doing good.”
Albin harrumphed. “He has never styled himself a hero. To the contrary, he would rather be called the villain.”
“I can imagine,” Kenichi-san chuckled as he reclined on his couch, still worrying the pieces of his puzzle. “It looks like you’re the one who’s had the change of heart. Or maybe you both changed but in opposite directions. My, that is unfortunate for a friendship.” He clucked in disapproval.
Understandably, Mr. Serebus’s rival took pleasure in the man’s decline. “Kenichi-san, I did not come here for your spiritual and psychological evaluation, but for your material assistance.”
“Oh, I’m to be your sugar-daddy and chaperone again? Sorry, I’m fresh out of Oshiros to torch.”
Albin cleared his throat. “You have my apologies for that incident. I neither expected nor desired the outcome.”
“I know.” Kenichi-san released an exasperated sigh. “If I was really mad at you, I wouldn’t have brought you here in my yacht, would I.”
“I believe we were partially ferrying the craft here for your convenience.” A thin smile touched Albin’s lips.
“Hah, nothing gets past you, does it, Mr. Attorney.”
Nothing save friends and relatives; those passed rather easily through his net.
“Now, I’m assuming you need me to help you take Nathan down.”
Albin’s gaze snapped up to meet the inventor’s. “I do not want to ‘take him down.’ I merely wish to help him see reason. However, if that involves bringing him to justice, then so be it.”
“They’re the same thing, though, aren’t they?” Kenichi-san interlaced his fingers behind his head and lay back to contemplate the ceiling. “He’s not going to stop doing things unless you force him to stop. That means taking away his toys. Now stop beating around the bush. You started out so wonderfully, cutting right to the chase.”
“Ah.” Albin blinked. “Of course. I require an idea of where to have a base in Silicon Valley, as well as connections with people who would help me liberate Redwood Shores from his hold. I do not wish to leave them leaderless, nor do I wish them harm. To the contrary, in fact.”
Kenichi-san rolled over, propping his head on his hand. “You don’t ask for much, do you. Why don’t you just ask for a magic wand that you can poke Nathan in the eye with to turn him back into his lovable teddy-bear self?”
The glacial glare of death he received failed to intimidate him, producing a smile rather than a tremor.
“I think I can help you. No!” He held up a finger. “I know I can help you. It would put a song in my heart to see Nathan receive justice and come to his senses.” The smile that followed held all the reassurance of a fox’s concern for a rabbit’s safety.
Chapter 43
Pied Piper
Giants - X Ambassadors
The edge of the box—the riddle wrapped in a mystery—pressed into Nathan’s bicep as he adjusted his grip. He reached for the knob of the Musters’ back door, but Denver opened it for him.
“Nathan,” the radio crackled. “It’s Stacy.”
He hit the PTT as he strode down the hall into the living room. “I copy. Go ahead.”
“I don’t know if this means anything, but you said to report any developments. The affected were behaving normally, wandering around their enclosure. Then they all charged for the eastern fence as if they heard a silent dog whistle. They climbed halfway up. Their chains kept them from getting over. Then they abruptly returned to wandering. A moment later, they repeated the behavior.”
He set the black box on the table. “What time did this happen?” Had the frequency generator actually worked?
“About three minutes ago. I would have reported it sooner, but I wanted to see if it happened again.”
“I think I might know what caused it. Meet me at the usual place. Bring the other researchers as well.”
“We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
Crossing his arms, he regarded the machine as if it would break into song, or at least explanation, at any moment. Who made it? Likely the same people who designed the ReMOT. Could it control the cannibals, or did it simply enrage them? The cannibal frenzy might have been a fluke.
A presence at his elbow—Taylor. “Nathan, what is it? Who put it by o
ur house?”
“Excellent questions. The gang members who worked for the Goats were at your house. It’s plausible they installed it.” Better to avoid discussing its cannibal-calling potential. The girls would worry. Damn, he worried. They would need to search the neighborhood inside and out to ensure no more of these devices waited to bring the Dalit horde down upon Redwood Shores.
A knock on the door signaled the first researcher’s arrival. More dropped in over the next ten minutes. After the key scientists—and Josephine—arrived, Nathan launched into his account of finding the box. The group clung to every word with a drowning man’s desperation.
“We need to know if there was a timer, how it’s controlled, and if it affects the cannibals,” he concluded.
The R&D team descended on the box. Though she probably didn’t understand more than two words of their discussion, Josephine questioned the scientists.
Nathan joined in with Dennis. The Hawaiian-shirted researcher scratched his beard as he squinted at the machine. “If this really works, we may be able to change the polarity so the cannibals stay away from us. If nothing else, it could help us write a frequency pattern that will stop the cannibals, since the ReMOT’s certainly not doing anything yet. I just checked it.”
They resolved to study the machine while Nathan’s team secured the research building across Belmont Channel.
Meeting concluded, Nathan escorted them to the door. When he opened it, however, a delegation waited: Mrs. Wong with three unfamiliar people—two men and a woman—who likely hailed from her side of the neighborhood at the north end of Marlin Drive. Their crossed arms and disgruntled expressions indicated they didn’t come to deliver a casserole. Did the morons want to repeat the disaster at Heron Court?
“May I help you?” He raised a brow as his hand hovered over his belt—and the Glock.
“You are siding with the people across the channel.” Ah, Mrs. Wong, Teller of Truth.
“We have to make allies. This isn’t a situation we can successfully negotiate alone.”